The Night of the Night in Confusion
by Tripidydoodah
Summary: Jim's confused, Artie's confused and I'm confused. If you read this, you will be. The story comes from something Midas said in TNOT Burning Diamond.
1. Chapter 1

**The Night of Confusion**

Chapter 1

As the crew prepared the Wanderer for its next journey, Artemus Gordon collapsed onto the couch with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Another job well done," he said to his companion, "and without any problems for once." He was referring to the delivery of a notorious counterfeiter to the Ohio Penitentiary.

"James, my boy, this calls for a celebration," he continued, uncorking the bottle of champagne that stood on the table next to him. "To our next assignment," he said, "and the safe transport of the Collingwood rubies; a mere walk in the park."

James West, currently absorbed in a solo game of billiards, looked up and accepted the glass that was handed to him.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Simon Collingwood again but, you know what, Artie? It makes me just a little nervous when things go this smoothly. Makes me wonder what's waiting around the corner. Remember that time...?"

He was interrupted by a short sharp knock on the door followed by the appearance of Colonel Richmond, who had a harried look on his face. As both men rose to greet him, they realised there was something worrying him.

"Sir," they both said.

"What brings you here?" James asked.

"I've been visiting the Governor," Richmond explained. "A communication just reached me saying that agents Wilson and Harris haven't reported in for three days. They were investigating the disappearance of ranch hands outside Remembrance, West Virginia and I want you to go there straight away and find out what happened to them. Your next assignment can wait."

"What were Harris and Wilson doing there? It sounds like a job for the local sheriff, Sir" Gordon pointed out.

"The order came from the President. We need to find out who's behind the disappearances because they have the potential to disrupt beef supplies, especially to the army."

"Had they discovered anything?" West wanted to know.

"The only report we had was that they had arrived in Remembrance and were heading out to the Circle R ranch. I'm really worried about them."

"We understand, Colonel, you can rely on us," James told him.

"Good, well I must be going. I don't want to hold you up."

Gordon saw the Colonel out and then turned to West.

"Looks like we're not going to Charles Town just yet," he said, confirming what his companion had already worked out.

Once their train reached the outskirts of Remembrance the agents split up, with Gordon going on ahead in a familiar role, one of many called 'old-timer' by West. So it was that, when a gang of hungry cow-pokes arrived at the chuck wagon for their supper, Gordon was in place, doling out the food.

"Come on, fellas!" he said, "come and taste the best grub known to man. From a recipe told me by my great aunt Maude. Boy could she cook!" he added, with a senile chuckle.

As he spoke, he began to dish out bean stew onto the plates, and biscuits with thick, tasty gravy. There was silence while the men ate but, once they'd taken the edge off their hunger, it was easy for Gordon to strike up conversations with them and find out everything they knew about the disappearance of their fellow ranch hands. Now he had to catch up with James West.

West had been visiting establishments in town, trying to trace the steps of Wilson and Harris. It seemed that the pair had been asking questions but no-one had been able to help them with their enquiries. They had ridden out of town and everyone assumed they were returning to Washington. West was considering signing on at the Circle R himself, to get closer to the problem, when he was accosted by an elderly man who had seen better days.

"Got a dime to spare, sonny?"

"Fallen on bad luck, old-timer?" West asked.

"I may be old but I'm not senile," he said. " _Got some information for you_ , _Jim_ ," he added, out of the corner of his mouth. " _Those ranch hands went missing after visiting the town. They were seen leaving but never arrived back at the ranch_."

" _That's more or less what happened to the missing agents,"_ West said.

"Aw, that's mighty handsome of you to offer me a whole dollar," Gordon said, in case anyone was listening.

West put his hand in his pocket, withdrew a coin and tossed it to his friend. It was a nickel. Gordon placed it between his teeth and bit down hard to test its authenticity.

" _A house a mile outside of Remembrance was rented out about two months ago_ , _"_ he said. _"It's between here and the ranch_. _Could be significant"_

" _I'll check it out."_

"Mighty kind of you, mister," Gordon said, walking off down the street.

West was about a quarter of a mile outside town when he caught up with a young woman, trying to steady a horse that was obviously far too lively for her to control.

"Would you like some help, Ma'am?" he asked, riding alongside her mount, close enough to grab the reins if necessary.

"Blast you, Hercules!" she said in a most unladylike fashion, digging her heels into the horse's flanks.

Hercules, if that was indeed the horse's name, reared up on his hind legs and looked in danger of unseating her. West jumped down and took hold of the bridle, forcing the horse's head down. He calmly stroked its long nose until it settled. The woman leaned down. Seeing her up close, West put her age at around thirty. She was a striking blonde.

"I can't thank you enough, Sir," she said.

"Think nothing of it, Ma'am."

"It's 'Miss'," she said, raising his spirits. "I can't imagine what's gotten into Hercules this morning. He's usually quite cooperative and I can assure you that I am a far better horsewoman that this incident would indicate."

"Yes, I can see that you have an impressive seat," he said, with a charming smile.

She smiled back. "I'm Amelia Shawcross," she said, extending her hand.

"James West," he replied, using her hand to pull her toward him. He essayed a brief kiss on her lips and, feeling them become pliant, deepened it and then drew back.

"I hope you don't mind me claiming a small reward for my efforts?" he smiled.

'It seems such meagre recompense. Please accept an invitation to take luncheon with my brother and me. Our house is not far from here."

Believing that she was probably referring to the very house he wished to investigate, West said, "I can think of nothing I would like more."

The house was built of stone with a portico surrounding a large front door. Once inside, West was struck by the formality of the dark furniture. It was so unlike the fresh appearance of the woman by his side. A heavy wooden door to his left opened and he turned to see a man, in his early forties, walk toward them. Unlike his sister, he was dark in appearance with hazel eyes and a full moustache.

"Mr West, this is my brother Clifton," she said. "Clifton, this is Mr West. He's just saved me from a very nasty tumble from my horse. I've invited him to lunch with us."

"I'm very grateful, Mr West, welcome to our home," Clifton Shawcross said, shaking his hand. "I've often thought that Hercules is far too big for Amelia to ride but, I must admit, she's proved herself quite a capable horsewoman until now."

"So she informs me," West replied.

"Please show Mr West where he can freshen up, my dear, and then escort him to the dining room!"

"This way, Mr West," Amelia said.

"Please call me James," he replied as he was led away.

"What brings you to these parts, Mr West?" Shawcross asked, once luncheon was over and cigars were lit.

"I'm hoping to find work as a ranch hand. I understand there are some vacancies locally."

"Ah yes, caused by the disappearance of those unfortunate young men hereabouts. I've told Amelia to be careful when she's out riding."

"Have you seen anything suspicious, Mr Shawcross?"

"No, I can't say I have, but then I seldom leave the house."

"Have you lived here long?"

"No, we moved here from Baltimore about a couple of months ago. My doctor suggested that the drier climate would be good for my health. Thankfully, Amelia was happy to accompany me. I don't know what I'd do without her." He smiled and held out his hand. She went to his side and kissed him on the cheek.

"You know I would never leave you," she said.

On the surface the two were devoted siblings, innocent of any wrongdoing. He would return later, uninvited, just to make sure. There was nothing more he could do at the moment. "Well, thank you very much for lunch, but I'd better be on my way," he said.

Amelia leaned over and laid her hand on his arm.

"Oh, but you can't go just yet, I haven't had a chance to show you my collection of musical boxes. Please, it won't take long and I don't get to share them with anyone way out here." She threw him one of her beautiful smiles and he gave in.

"I don't see why not," he said, following her from the room. It was a chance to get a better idea of the layout of the house and maybe steal another kiss.

They came to a small door, half hidden by a heavy brocade curtain.

"I keep them in here," she said, opening the door onto a pretty little room, furnished in a more modern style, with dainty veneered tables. Each one held a handful of musical boxes.

"This is my favourite," she said, picking up a small box, inlaid with mother of pearl. "It plays the most delightful tune."

She handed the box to West. He opened the lid and was hit by a billowing spray of green mist. He wasn't quick enough to avoid inhaling it and was aware that Amelia had fled the room just as he passed out.

A few hours later, West lifted his head dizzily from the pillow on which it had been residing and then promptly dropped it back down again. You'd think, after all the times it had happened to him, he could handle knock-out gas by now but he could swear his head felt worse each time it happened.

"Ah, James," a feminine voice said, "you're back." The voice belonged to Amelia Shawcross.

"I'm sorry I had to go away," he replied.

"I regret we've had to restrain you," she said, "but I'm sure you realise that we can't run the risk of you getting away."

West was well aware of the wide leather straps, fastened across his chest and lower legs, anchoring him to the narrow bed. He had already tested the restraints and found them impossible to break.

"I do wish that the circumstances of our meeting could have been different," Amelia said, moving closer. "But Clifton wants you for reasons of his own and I wouldn't dare to interfere," she continued, gently tracing the outline of his finely-honed jaw with one finger. She then touched his lips and, as he responded by opening his mouth slightly, she dipped down and placed her mouth on his, ever so softly, slowly deepening the kiss, as he allowed her to.

"My, oh my," she said, stepping back, "you could easily go to my head."

West smiled at her lazily. "And a very pretty head it is too." Experience had proved that it never hurt to woo the opposition. His success with Marie Pincher came to mind.

"I have to leave you now," she said, regret in her voice.

"I'll miss you," he replied.

"Oh, you won't be alone. One of Clifton's men is stationed right outside the door."

"Thank you for warning me."

"Good-bye, James," she said, gliding from the room, as only women know how.

While Amelia had been dallying with him, West had been sizing up the situation. With a little difficulty, he managed to operate the mechanism up his sleeve for what would normally be a wrist gun but which had been modified to dispense a phial of fine crystals. These acted as a corrosive when mixed with air. He was glad that Gordon had persuaded him to make the switch between his usual gun and this new invention.

West opened the phial with one hand and shook a small amount of the crystals onto the leather strap around his chest. As they ate through the leather he expanded his upper torso so that the belt snapped before the crystals reached his clothing and, inevitably, his sensitive flesh. Once he had disposed of the chest strap it was only seconds before he had freed his feet and risen from the bed.

West ran to the window and looked out. There was a guard outside, as well as the one at the door. Nevertheless, as he had heard the door being locked earlier, and the light outside was already fading, he decided his best option was the window. With his usual decisiveness and lack of any real forethought, he leapt through the window, raising his arms over his head and face, to avoid the breaking glass. He landed on top of the guard, disarming him in the process, as his rifle flew from his grasp. West was now in his element and a short bout of fisticuffs saw the guard laid out cold.

West could see his horse tethered a short distance away. He checked that no-one was about and then made for the animal. He grabbed the reins and was about to ride away when something hit him in the back. There was a searing, burning sensation and he was jolted from the saddle. He staggered for a few feet and then fell to the dirt like a sack of animal feed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When he resurfaced, West found himself lashed to a sturdy wooden frame, held aloft by strong ropes. Below him was some sort of equipment, with wires leading to a device on his head. He was dressed only in trousers and shirt, leaving him without any of his numerous gadgets. His ankles were bound so he couldn't access the contents of his boot-heels. All he had now was his agility and his wits, quite formidable weapons on their own. Unfortunately, he could see no way to make use of them at present. He was not blind to the seriousness of his position but would rather spend his time thinking of solutions than panicking, so he faced it with his usual calm demeanour, hiding his uncertainty and wondering at the same time if Artemus would turn up to rescue him.

"Ah, you are awake at last. I didn't think it polite to begin in your absence," Shawcross said. "I trust you are suffering no lasting effects from the weapon I used on you?"

"Feeling just fine and dandy," West said, sarcastically.

"Good, it is just a small electrical device I invented. It fires bolts of electricity into the victim's body through a series of barbed leads, disrupting the nervous system. I find it very effective but not fatal."

"Was that what you used on the missing ranch hands?"

"How perceptive of you but you should be grateful to them. Only by practicing on them could I perfect my apparatus."

"What about Harris and Wilson?"

"Ah, the two secret service agents who came snooping around. I'm afraid I had to dispose of them. Their disappearance was part of my plan to bring you here."

Just then Amelia entered the chamber and approached Clifton, who turned and kissed her hard on the lips.

"Don't be shocked, Mr West," he, said. "You see, Amelia is actually my wife. We thought it best if she pretended to be my sister when she talked to you. It made it much easier to trick you into coming here. Oh yes, I know all about your susceptibility to beautiful women."

West raised his chin but had the grace to look slightly abashed.

"And don't expect a sudden rescue by your friend, Artemus Gordon. Amelia has dealt with him very effectively."

"Such a shame he had to die, he was a really handsome fellow," she said.

West couldn't hide the shock he felt at her words. His heart flew straight down to his boots and for a split second he went limp, letting go of any thought of surviving the upcoming ordeal. But then anger kicked in and he struggled against his bindings, furious at his uselessness, determined to escape somehow and take his revenge on Clifton and his sister. How could he have kissed her?

"I should forget about him and concentrate on what I have in store for you," Shawcross said. "I feel I must warn you, that your experience will be a shocking one. You see, this apparatus produces an electrical current which is centred on a specific point of your brain's temporal lobe, a fact that I don't suppose means much to you. It is important that the electrical charge is delivered with pinpoint accuracy at the correct site or it could destroy your brain, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Just get on with it. I'm tired of listening to you."

"You wound me, Mr West, but I will do as you ask. I always try to accommodate my guests."

So saying, Shawcross spent some time fiddling with the controls on the apparatus and then flipped a lever.

West braced himself as best he could. He had tolerated severe pain before but this time his mind couldn't recede away from the crashing agony that seemed to sear deep inside his brain. He thought he screamed just before he plummeted into a cold, steely, darkness. The next massive shock brought him back to awareness for a brief moment before he felt his head crack open and his brains spill out and a deep, dark pool swallowed him.

West must have been mistaken because a man looking exactly like him, with his skull intact, was pulled, several hours later, from the burning ruins of a house. It would have been easy though to mistake him for a dead man, he was so still, and his face and clothes were covered in grime. The figure kneeling beside him looked down with concern and tried to wipe some of the dirt from his face. He decided there was nothing more he could do there, so he carefully lifted the unconscious man onto his horse, climbed up behind him, and rode toward town.

Back at the hotel, with the help of the bell-boy, West was carried up to his hotel room and placed on the bed. He looked a sorry sight.

His companion poured some water from the pitcher into a bowl, grabbed a cloth and wetted it.

As the cool cloth touched his forehead, West began to mumble and shake his head from side to side. Obviously, he didn't like anything touching his head, a hangover from his recent ordeal? Hoping that the coolness would bring him back to consciousness, he continued the treatment.

In his mind West had to face his ordeal again and again, in his imagination, making him shout out each time. Eventually his mind tired of torturing him and, mumbling again, he fell into a deep, natural sleep.

With a sigh of relief, his companion removed his own boots and jacket and stretched out in the armchair next to the bed, not fighting his own slow descent into sleep.

Several hours later, West woke up and found he was lying on a bed with a nagging pain in his head and a metallic taste in his mouth. He looked around the room with half-open eyes, blinking to clear his vision, but didn't recognise anything. Suddenly, he realised there was someone nearby. Who on earth was it? No time to wait and find out. He stood up, tried to reach the gun belt on the table next to the bed, toppled back onto the bed, and managed to wake up the man in the armchair, who sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He turned to West. "Jim, you're awake," he said.

It was the use of what he supposed was his name that made West realise he didn't have a clue who he was either. Still he ignored that for the moment and voiced his original question, "who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean? You must have had a harder knock on the head than I thought."

The man was now on his feet. "What's wrong, Jim?" he asked.

West considered whether he could trust him or not. He decided he didn't have much option. "I..damn ... this might sound mad, but I haven't a clue who you are. In fact I haven't a clue who I am."

His companion looked him over. "Do you mean to say you've lost your memory?"

"Yes," West admitted, trying to control his voice.

"What happened to you?" the man said.

"I don't know, but I would like to know who I am, if you wouldn't mind." He was becoming a little impatient.

"Does the name Captain James T West mean anything to you?" the man asked.

"No," West replied after a moment's deep concentration. "But, since you called me 'Jim' I'm assuming that's me."

"You're a secret service agent with the United States Government. You were captured by a man we were investigating but I managed to rescue you."

"It's not that I don't believe you but, if that's true, shouldn't I have some sort of identification?"

"If you've still got it then it'll be in your..." he reached for West's waist as he spoke and West quickly stepped back, "...trousers," he finished, putting his hands back at his sides.

West gave him a warning look.

"There's a pocket inside the waistband where you usually hide it if you know you're walking into trouble,"

West delved into the waistband and produced a small, folded piece of pasteboard, flipped it open and checked the credentials inside. He seemed satisfied that he was who the man said he was.

"So we're working together," West said.

"Yes, I'm Artemus Gordon."

West tossed the name around in his brain but there was no recognition. It was strange how calm he felt under the circumstances; probably because they didn't mean much to him at the moment. Suddenly he seemed to realise the state of his clothing and his person and instinct kicked in. "I need a bath and a change of clothes," he said.

"The men's bath is just down the corridor," Gordon said.

West was shakier on his feet than he expected and required help reaching the bathroom but, after a long soak in the bath, he felt a lot better. His headache was beginning to fade, and he was able return to his room without assistance. He'd done a lot of thinking. Uppermost in his mind was how to regain his memory but he didn't see what he could do about it. The best he could do was to find out his recent past. He would have a long talk with the man named Artemus Gordon.

When West returned to his room Gordon was engrossed in the local broadsheet, probably trying to give him some privacy. Trying not to feel self-conscious, West dressed in clean clothes, all except his jacket, which he threw onto the bed. He ran his fingers over his cravat and waistcoat. He seemed to be a man who was proud of his appearance. As he turned to the mirror to brush his hair the shock hit him. He really had no idea who was looking back at him, except that he needed to shave.

"I need a shave," he said.

"But first," Gordon said, standing up and putting down the newspaper, "you need to put these away." So saying he handed West a knife, a lock-pick, and a wrist gun.

West fitted the gun to his forearm then stood looking blankly at the other items in his hand. Eventually, Gordon took the knife and lock-pick and stowed them in his jacket for him. "Don't forget the explosives are already in your boot heels," he said.

"Artemus," West said, trying out the name for the first time, "Would you mind answering some questions for me?"

"Sorry, Jim, of course you must want to know what's been going on. This has been a bit of a shock for me but it must be mind-boggling for you."

"That's the understatement of the year." He paused. "What I want to know is what are we doing here? Also, where is here?"

"This is a small town in West Virginia. As to what we're doing here..."

There followed an explanation by Gordon, detailing what had happened, up to the point when West set out for the house outside of town.

"When I didn't hear from you for 24 hours, I went out to the house myself. I found you unconscious in the basement and got you out of there. I set explosive charges before I left, to destroy the apparatus but I must have overestimated the integrity of the building and the whole thing went up. I have no idea if anyone else was inside. I barely got us both out of there in time."

"Did you find the two missing agents you mentioned?"

"Yes, I discovered their bodies in an outhouse. I contacted Colonel Richmond while you were taking your bath and he's going to arrange for them to be shipped back to Washington. I told him we didn't find the perpetrators but he ordered us to leave it and undertake our next assignment. I didn't say anything about your amnesia. So we leave for Charles Town tomorrow morning. We can reach there on horseback. Let me fill you in on the details.

It involves a man called Simon Collingwood. After the war he went abroad, returning about a year or two ago, an immensely wealthy man. Among other things he owns one of the world's finest collections of rubies, worth a half a million dollars. He's donated them to the Government, to be exhibited as a gift to the Nation. It's our job to oversee the transportation of the stones to Washington."

"I see," said West. "Are we expecting any trouble?"

"Hopefully, not; the operation's been kept top secret. Now let's get you to a barber and then back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Oh, and you need to buy a new hat."

They reached Collingwood's house just before noon the next day. It was large, surrounded by high walls. West showed the security guard his identification and the two men passed through the front gate without incident. West reached the front door ahead of Gordon and rang the bell. A man in butler's garb appeared.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I'm James West and this is Mr Artemus Gordon. We're here to see Mr Collingwood."

"Please come in, gentlemen. I'll tell Mr Collingwood you're here."

"Thank you."

The two agents entered the house and, in a few moments, they were joined by a man in his forties, with thick blond, shoulder-length hair and a luxuriant moustache and beard. He seemed to hesitate a moment before he spoke.

"James," he said, a smile beaming its way to his face. He stepped forward and wrung West's hand like it was a water pump. "It's so good to see you again."

"Mr Collingwood," West said, puzzled at the man's greeting.

"Mr Collingwood?" There was a short pause. "That's a mite formal from the man who saved my life," he said, "though I suppose you regard this as official business."

"Saved your life?" Gordon cut in.

"Yes, didn't Jim tell you? It was during the war," Collingwood said. "And who is this gentleman?"

"This is Mr Artemus Gordon," West said, unaware of the flicker in Collingwood's eyes. "He's a fellow agent."

"Artemus Gordon, eh? James has told me a bit about you. It'll be a pleasure to get to know you at last."

"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you," Gordon replied.

"Let me show you to your rooms so that you can freshen up before lunch," Collingwood said.

They ascended the wide staircase and Collingwood showed Gordon to his room first. He led West to one a few doors away and, after checking that no-one had followed them, shut the door and turned to West and grabbed him in a bear hug. "Boy, I'm so relieved to find out you're all right. I thought I might have lost you." Then he released him and pushed him away with a hurt look and a whispered, "Why the charade, Jim?"

"What...? ...I...?" West began, totally confused. Why was Collingwood behaving this way? Was he mad? "What charade?"

"Why have you come here and introduced that guy you're with as Artemus Gordon?"

"Because he is Artemus Gordon. Look, Mr Col...Simon, what's going on?"

Collingwood peered closely at West's face. "They've done a mighty good job on you but, you can't fool me. What have you done with the real James West?" So saying he pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

With his usual fast reaction, West had a gun in his hand just as quickly. So, it looked like he wasn't James West after all? Then why did he look like him? It meant he was probably in trouble and he began to think fast.

"Hold on a minute," West said. "How do you know he's not Artemus Gordon, if you've never met before?"

"Because _I_ am Artemus Gordon!" was the surprising answer.

West backed up against the bed and sat down on it with an unintentional bounce. He gathered his wits. "In that case you won't mind showing me some identification," he said.

The man calling himself Collingwood was happy to do so.

"So why did he say _he_ was Artemus Gordon?" West asked.

"Hold on a minute, let's get back to the point of this conversation. If you were really James West you'd know he wasn't Artemus Gordon."

"Not necessarily," West confessed, looking at the floor.

"What do you mean, 'not necessarily'?"

"Because I've completely lost my memory," he unwillingly confessed, feeling it put him at a disadvantage.

The other man studied him carefully. "I'm beginning to think you are James West after all," he said. "I thought you might be an imposter, part of the plan to steal the famous Collingwood rubies, but a loss of memory would explain everything."

The stand-off no longer necessary, both men put away their guns.

"I guess I need to explain a few things to you," the new Gordon said.

"That would certainly help."

"But first I need to know what that fellow down the corridor has told you." Gordon pulled up a chair and sat down opposite West, who then told him everything he knew, which wasn't much.

"That's partially true," Gordon said. "Now I'll tell you my part in it." He started with his decision to follow West to the Shawcross house and his run-in with Amelia and Hercules.

"After Amelia Shawcross shot me, I stupidly hit my head on a rock and knocked myself out."

"You were shot? How come you're not dead?"

"Bullet-proof vest." There had been a lack of concern in West's voice, explained by the fact that he didn't remember him, of course. He cleared his throat and continued.

"Anyway, I was out for a good few of hours but, once I came round, I continued on my way to the Shawcross place. The house was empty. There was no sign of you or anyone else."

"But the house was completely destroyed. Artemus, or whoever that man is, pulled me from the burning rubble."

"Well, whatever house that was, it wasn't the Shawcross one. I went back to the hotel but you'd gone and taken your luggage with you. That was two days ago"

"I don't understand. I didn't leave the hotel until this morning."

"Well, as I see it, they must have moved you to a different house and the hotel can't have been in Remembrance. It must have been somewhere near there. Even if they thought I was dead, they wouldn't want to risk someone else coming to investigate, so they moved you."

"If you thought I was missing, shouldn't you be looking for me? And why are you pretending to be Simon Collingwood?"

"I reported back to Washington that there was no sign of you. But the situation here had become urgent. There was information that someone was intending to steal the rubies. Colonel Richmond had an idea that you'd been specifically targeted so he concluded that the two cases might be linked. I had to high-tail it down here to deal with the situation, hoping against hope that you would turn up at some point. I sent Simon Collingwood away and disguised myself as him. You could have knocked me down with a feather when you arrived and gave no indication that you recognised me. It was all I could do to stay in character."

"I didn't recognise you."

"Yes, well, I decided to find out what game you were playing and now I know the truth. Shawcross must have caused your amnesia, and I'm starting to think he did it on purpose."

"So that I would bring the so-called Gordon to Collingwood's house," West supplied. "That means our friend down the hall must be this Shawcross you mentioned."

"James, my boy, you catch on fast."

"Where are the rubies now?"

"They're in a safe place. We leave this afternoon to rendezvous with an army wagon about 50 miles from here."

"We'd better deal with Shawcross at lunch then."

"No, I'd like to hold off, take him with us. My guess is that he'll soon show his hand and then we'll find out if he has any confederates. For one thing we need to find Amelia."

"Why didn't I think of that?" West said.

"It'll come back to you, Jim," was the only comfort offered by his companion. "Now wipe the dust off your boots and we'll go down to lunch."

"I see you made it down before us," Gordon said, entering the dining room.

Shawcross was looking at the cold meats, cheeses and bread laid out on the dining table.

"I guess you two had a lot to catch up on," he said.

"True, I've done my best to jog James' memory of our days at West Point and our exploits during my short-lived army career," Gordon lied.

"So you now know the story of how you saved Mr Collingwood's life. Care to share, James?"

"I'm afraid I'm too modest," West replied, having no idea of the answer.

That didn't stop Gordon. "Then I'll tell him," he said. "We were on a scouting trip, near Tranters Creek. We were spotted by a sniper and the first thing I knew my hat was shot off. It would have been my damn head if James hadn't pushed me down on the ground. I wish I had reflexes like his. As it was, I took a bullet in the leg, trying to get back to our own lines and had to be hauled to safety. James came to my rescue again. He just put me over his shoulder and got the hell out of there."

"That sounds like him," Shawcross said.

West smiled. "Not particularly heroic," he said, "In fact it's rather disappointing to find out I was running away at the time."

"They call it a strategic retreat, James," Gordon chided.

They all laughed. West and Gordon exchanged a look that agreed Shawcross suspected nothing.

"We'd better get moving, Jim," Shawcross announced, once lunch was over. "Where are the rubies, Mr Collingwood?"

"In a safe place," Gordon said. "I'd rather keep them under my control, until we reach Washington."

"And I'd rather you handed them over to us," Shawcross said. "After all, as representatives of the Government, we are responsible for their safe delivery."

"I think we can safely leave them with Mr Collingwood," West said. "All we have to do is deliver _him_ safely."

Shawcross gave West a telling look. He didn't seem happy that West was siding with his friend against his partner. "Are you sure you should be making such decisions while in your present condition?" he asked.

"Yes," West said, putting his hat on.

"Okay," Shawcross reluctantly agreed. "But, as long as he has the rubies on him, one of us will always be at his side."

Yeah, and I'm not going to leave you alone with him, West thought, though he supposed Gordon could take care of himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

That night they stopped in order to pitch camp. They bedded the horses down, before putting out their own bed-rolls. They'd travelled roughly 30 miles so far and West was pleased with their progress. Two men were required to take it in turn to keep watch while the others slept. That should be himself and the fake Gordon. However, as he couldn't trust Shawcross, he decided to talk to Gordon about it.

As usual, these days, Gordon was way ahead of him. He took West to one side on the pretext of helping him gather wood for the fire. Once they were out of earshot, he said "Don't worry about leaving Shawcross on guard tonight. I'll keep wide-awake and make sure he doesn't get up to anything."

West nodded. "Okay."

So it was that, after a meal and a cup of hot coffee, West lay down by the fire to go to sleep, while Gordon bedded down on the other side of the clearing, and Shawcross picked up his rifle and sat down on a nearby rock, to act as lookout.

West woke up slowly the next morning. His mouth was dry and tasted like the inside of an old army boot, or what he imagined it would taste like. He moistened his lips while trying to deal with the boulders in his head. He heard a groan coming from his left and turned his head to see what it was. He winced – yes, definitely boulders. Through narrowed eyes he could see Shawcross, also waking up. Both of them had their hands tied behind them and their feet were firmly bound as well.

"Jim, are you okay?"

"I think so. What the hell happened?"

"My guess is that the coffee was drugged. First priority is to free ourselves. You'd better use the knife in your boot."

"I have a knife in my boot?"

"Sorry, I forgot you don't remember. Just press the mechanism on the side of your right boot with the toe of your left boot."

West did so and a blade popped out. "Hey that's really something," he said. "I'll bring my toe up and cut the ropes round your wrists." This he did with skill and some difficulty.

After that, Shawcross removed the bindings from his ankles and then cut the ropes around the other man's wrists. West then untied his own ankles.

"We'd better get after him," Shawcross said, brushing dust from his clothing.

West did the same, wondering if he always dressed in that style when on the trail. Then he went down on one knee, carelessly getting dirt on his trouser leg again.

"I can make out two trails," he said. "Looks like two men came to the camp on horseback and three people left. Collingwood's horse is missing," he added.

"But how was our coffee drugged?"

West had the grace to look ashamed as he said, "I don't think he was kidnapped. In fact, I think he was the one who doctored the coffee."

"But why would Collingwood want to steal his own rubies?"

"Because he wasn't Simon Collingwood," West said.

"How do you know? You've lost your memory."

"He told me he wasn't Collingwood," West admitted.

"He told you...who was he then and why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he said he was Artemus Gordon," West said, sheepishly belligerent.

"But why on earth would you believe him?"

"How was I to know he was lying? He seemed to be in charge at Collingwood's house and he showed me your identification. What was I supposed to think? You have to admit it would have fooled anyone who didn't know you."

"Yeah, that's the problem isn't it? You don't remember anything. It's just a pity you didn't get him to hand the rubies over to you."

"What can I say, Artemus?"

"Nothing that's going to be of any use, that's for sure. Just forget it. It must have been Shawcross all along. No wonder he tinkered with your memory. He was going to pretend to be me but when he realised I was still very much alive, he took Collingwood's place instead."

"But how did he get hold of your identification?"

"His sister must have stolen it while I was unconscious. I thought they did it so my body wouldn't be identified, because they didn't want Washington sending any more agents. I should have realised they were going to use it. Darn! I don't suppose you feel your memory coming back at all?"

"No, why?"

"No reason, except I don't think I'd recognise Shawcross without his Collingwood disguise and you're the only other person who's met him. That might not even be his real name. We'll just have to hope that he still has his sister in tow. I'd never forget her lovely face."

"It's not his sister I'm worried about, not when he has at least two men with him."

Gordon made sure the fire was safe, then they saddled up, and followed the trail of their erstwhile companion.

After an hour's ride, the two men saw a shack in the distance. It looked deserted except for the two horses tied up outside. They approached cautiously.

"You go around the back and I'll cover the front door," West said.

Gordon nodded and headed off.

West walked stealthily to the door and stood to one side of it, listening for any noise from within. It was completely silent. He lifted his foot and kicked hard against the door. The wood gave way with a crash and he entered the shack, gun drawn. At the same moment Gordon entered through a window and the two stood facing each other over the bodies of two men, obviously the owners of the two horses.

Gordon kneeled down for a closer look. "They're out cold, Jim," he said.

"There's no sign of Shawcross or his sister. What went down here?" West asked.

"Perhaps they had a falling out. I suggest we make for the nearest town and see if we can catch up with him."

"First we'd better tie these men up. We can send the sheriff back for them."

Once they reached the nearest town, Gordon made straight for the Sheriff's office while West headed for the saloon, where they had arranged to meet up later. He went to the bar and, slapping a coin down on the counter, requested a glass of beer. As he took a sip, and had a casual look around, he couldn't help noticing a pretty young woman heading in his direction. She had a broad smile on her face as she greeted him.

"Why, James West, fancy meeting you way out here."

West greeted her with his most charming smile. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said.

"Eva?" she hinted, "from Carson City?" she added.

"Ah yes, Eva," he nodded. "Drink for the lady," he told the barman, who automatically served her up a glass of beer. West placed another coin on the bar. Who on earth was she? "What are you doing way out here?"

"I'm on my way to St Louis," she said. "I'm just working here temporarily."

That would explain the skimpy outfit and the feather in her hair, he thought, feeling he was on slightly firmer ground. She might even be of some help. She was practically welded to his hip by this time, so he decanted her into the nearest chair and sat down beside her.

"I don't suppose you've noticed any strangers in town today?"

"Funny you should say that, there was a guy in here just now, one I'd never seen before; blond with a moustache. He's got a room upstairs, number 8; could be the one you're looking for."

"Thanks, Eva," he said, and took the opportunity to kiss her before making his way upstairs.

He carefully tried the door to room 8 and found it unlocked. He opened the door a crack and looked inside. The room appeared empty so he entered and made his way over to the open window and looked out. Maybe Shawcross had escaped that way. He heard a sound behind him and as he started to turn he caught a glimpse of red taffeta. Eva! Or, most likely, Amelia Shawcross! Just as the thought entered his mind, a heavy blow on the back of his neck sent him headlong out of the window and onto the trodden-down earth of the alley below.

James West was swimming through a mixture of glue and treacle until he finally punched his way to the surface, to find himself inches from the concerned face of the man he sought. The face receded a few inches and relief replaced the anxiety that had been there. "Thank goodness you're awake, Jim. I've been worried to death about you."

West attempted to raise his head but quickly lowered it back down onto the blessed softness of the pillow that was there to receive it.

"Careful, Jim, that was some blow to the noggin you took. Here, have a sip of water." He cradled West's head while he held a glass to his lips.

West took a few mouthfuls of the liquid and swallowed slowly, wincing at the discomfort caused by moving his head. "You're under arrest," West mumbled.

"Are you delirious?" the man asked. "James, it's me, Artemus."

"You can't fool me, Shawcross, I trailed you to this town."

Gordon could see that West was in no fit state to continue the conversation but he needed to get to the bottom of what worm had been planted in James' damaged mind by Shawcross.

"What are you talking about, Jim? Shawcross must be miles away by now."

"If you mean Artemus Gordon, he's over at the sheriff's office, arranging for your men to be picked up from the abandoned shack."

So that was Shawcross' new game. "They were his own men, Jim. You have to listen to me. I'm not Shawcross, I'm Artemus Gordon."

"Then how come you're here and not back at the camp?" West said

"He put something in the coffee and had me kidnapped while we were both out cold. I escaped and came to town to wait for you."

West slowly began to lose focus and his next words were more of a ramble than a statement.

"Not going through that again. Listened to you, got drugged, tied up, lost the rubies..."

At last the sedative that had been in the water took effect. With a silent apology to his friend, Gordon placed a warm blanket over him and left him to sleep. He'd feel a lot better in a few hours' time.

For about the fifth time in the last two days, James West found himself coming round with a thick head and a nasty taste in the mouth.

"Jim, how's your head?"

West tried flexing his neck muscles. "Actually, it feels a bit better."

"I'm sorry I palmed the sedative off on you but I knew you'd be better off with a few hours' rest."

"You've looked after me so well I'm starting to think you must really be a friend of mine, West said.

"Well, that's a good start."

"Where are we?" West asked.

"We're in a hotel room in a town called Confusion. I brought you here after I found you lying unconscious in an alley by the saloon. Any idea how you got there, by the way?"

"I was slugged by someone and fell out of a first floor window."

"James, you have got to stop doing that."

"It wasn't my choice, believe me. I'd much rather have come down the stairs."

"James, I've seen the way you come down the stairs. Sometimes it's more dangerous than using the window."

The old James would have understood and been amused. The current one had a puzzled look on his face.

"Who do you think attacked you? Could it have been Shawcross?" Gordon asked, changing the subject.

"I think it was his sister. She was posing as one of the saloon girls.

"It looks like the Shawcrosses want to get rid of any witnesses to their identity. Thank goodness they didn't succeed. Jim, I've had an idea that might convince you that I'm who I say I am. You said that your Artemus Gordon went to the Sheriff's office to ask him to send some men out to the shack. Now, if he was Shawcross and they were his men there's no way he would do that. So I suggest we go see the Sheriff."

"Sure," West agreed, attempting to stand up.

"Only if you're alright, of course."

"Don't worry, let's do this," West said, reaching for his gun belt and buckling it on. He wasn't prepared to take any chances, yet.

The two men set off toward the Sheriff's office and, when they got there, the Sheriff recognised West's companion at once.

"Hello, Mister Gordon," he said. "I've sent a couple of men to pick up those criminals you told me about."

"Thanks, Sheriff."

"And who's this young man?" the sheriff asked, looking at West.

"Please meet my associate, James West," Gordon said.

"And what part have you played in all this, Mr West?"

"It's a very long and complicated story," West said, wearily, "and I'm not sure I'm in a fit state to tell it," he added. "Excuse us, Sheriff."

The two men walked back to the hotel. Gordon could see that West was still suffering from a sore head so he led him back to his room and made him remove his jacket and lie on the bed, where Gordon removed his boots for him.

After a moment's silence during which West's gaze was locked on the ceiling, Gordon heard him say, "I'm sorry, Artemus."

Gordon didn't doubt that he meant it but nevertheless the words were forced out past stiff lips and, studying his profile, Gordon was shocked, but not surprised, by his friend's granite stare and the intractability of his jaw. He was obviously battling extreme emotions, including anger, frustration, humiliation, and resentment. While he could only guess how his friend must feel, West was experiencing it first-hand. Because of his amnesia he'd been forced to put his trust in a man he couldn't remember and Shawcross had played on his vulnerability, worse than that, Shawcross had done something diabolical to his friend to put him in that situation in the first place. Goodness only knew whether Jim would ever regain his memory. If he didn't then his career in the secret service would be finished. A new agent could learn everything he needed to know but a man who had been in the field for as many years as West had would have come across dozens of bad men and made many enemies. If he couldn't recognise them, then he would be prey to their machinations. The danger would also involve his partner, whoever that was. Gordon realised that, if he had thought of this, West probably had as well. No wonder he was having a problem exercising restraint over his emotions.

"James," he said quietly, "I know you don't remember me, and you've been given no reason to trust me, so far, but I can't put aside the friendship we've shared over the years. Please let me help you."

"What are you going to do, give me my memory back?" There was real resentment there but Gordon ignored it.

"If a whack on the head like the one you took didn't shake your memories loose then I doubt that there's anything physically I could do."

"That's the trouble isn't it? I'm not suffering from an ordinary bout of amnesia. Shawcross destroyed part of my brain, the part that makes me James West." The anger was starting to show now, and a touch of self-pity. "After all, isn't a man the sum of his memories?"

"I like to think that a man's personality is formed by the things he's experienced, whether he remembers them or not."

"Maybe you're right. I just keep asking myself, 'who is James West?'" he replied in frustration.

" _You_ are," Gordon replied. "You can't help being him. You have no choice. You haven't changed as far as I can tell."

"Yeah? Well I bet I never messed up an assignment before, like I just did." He paused for a moment. "I never did before, did I?" he asked in a worried voice.

"No!" said Gordon, "definitely not! And you haven't this time either. How could you think that?"

A second later he had moved to West's side and taken hold of his arm, trying to imbue him with some of his own faith in him. To his chagrin West pulled away from him.

"I did mess up and we can't just sit here," he said. "We have to find Shawcross and the rubies." The words were without enthusiasm, though, and West showed no inclination to rise from the bed.

"I should have told you before. I never had the rubies; I sent them on ahead with Collingwood. That's how I knew they would be safe from Shawcross. I guess Shawcross made sure we were knocked out last night so he could search for the jewels. When he didn't find anything, he kidnapped me to force their whereabouts out of me. Of course he had to stay behind to allay suspicion of himself and to lay the robbery at my door. I'm sorry he did that to you. When I came to I was in that shack, bound to a chair. Two of Shawcross' men started on me. Luckily they thought I was Collingwood and didn't know what they were up against. The ropes were around my chest, leaving my hands free. I had no trouble deploying a small knock-out device. You saw the result and you already know the rest. I made for the nearest town, expecting you to turn up. Unfortunately I was at the telegraph office, sending my report, when you arrived in Confusion, and didn't know you were here until I passed the saloon and caught sight of you lying in that side alley. That took about ten years off my life, I can tell you."

"It all makes sense now, but why did Shawcross leave town without looking for you when he still thought you had the rubies?"

"I'm guessing that you told him I was pretending to be Artemus Gordon."

"Yes," angrily, at the realisation of his mistake. "When he realised you'd sent the real Collingwood away, it must have dawned on him that you probably sent the rubies ahead with him. I've been such a fool!"

"You can't blame yourself."

"I don't see why not but what are we waiting for? We have to catch up with Collingwood before Shawcross does." There was a spark of enthusiasm this time that made Gordon Smile.

"Not possible," he said. "Collingwood is on the Wanderer, which should be pulling into Washington any time now. He and the rubies are safe."

"And Shawcross?"

"Following a false trail set by a US Marshall and two deputies. They'll let him catch up with them and then they'll arrest him."

"So you've had everything worked out from the beginning and I didn't have to do anything except blunder my way through it," West said peevishly.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I just couldn't chance telling you about my plans before now. You can see that, can't you? I didn't know what influence Shawcross might have on you."

"I get it. I'm something if a liability to you and the service. So what happens now?"

"We leave for Remembrance in the morning and wait for the Wanderer to pick us up and take us back to Washington. But right now I think you should rest."

West acquiesced by lying back down and closing his eyes but Gordon could tell that it was quite a while before he actually fell asleep. He didn't envy him the thoughts that must have been keeping him awake.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The ride back to Remembrance was a little awkward as neither man knew quite what to say to the other. Gordon was solicitous as ever of West's health, after all, he had been through a lot the last few days. However, he was wary of pushing things too far with his partner because he knew, from past experience, that West wouldn't stand for being treated as an invalid. Still, he made sure they didn't ride for too long and so it was that they struck camp in the middle of the afternoon.

The two men were sitting in silence, drinking coffee when West revealed what had been on his mind during their ride that morning.

"I've been wondering what life I'm going back to, the people who I won't remember." Then something suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, you would have told me if I had a wife or a girl somewhere, wouldn't you?"

Gordon hesitated for a moment. "Well, I didn't want to tell you until I thought you could handle it but you're bound to find out some time. You _are_ married and I know Hortense will be just pining away for your return," he said.

"Hortense!" he said, shocked. "What's she like?"

"Truth be told, knowing the sort of women you usually go for, I was surprised when you picked Hortense as your life partner but you two seem to rub along well enough together. Of course, it helps that you're away a fair bit on assignment. She's so affectionate toward you, I've often likened her to a limpet. It will break her heart that you don't remember her." At this point Gordon thought he'd laid it on thickly enough and couldn't help a smile at the chagrin on his friend's face.

"Yeah, that could be a bit of a problem," West said, with a dazed look of horror.

Gordon had to cough to cover his laughter. He knew he should have felt bad for teasing his friend but he just couldn't help himself. Also, it would give West something else to occupy his mind besides his future in Washington.

While waiting for the Wanderer, Gordon booked them into the hotel in Remembrance. There was no sign that being back in the town had jogged West's memory. He insisted on having a room of his own and Gordon said nothing to persuade him otherwise, even though he considered that he shouldn't be left on his own for the time-being.

West was able to confirm that the room he had been in with Shawcross was not like the ones at the hotel in Remembrance, so Gordon's suspicions were correct.

Not long after he had gone to sleep, Gordon woke up and wondered what had roused him. He lay there for quite some time, worrying about West and imagining what life would be like for him until he got his memory back or, worse still, if he never got it back. He was mentally gnawing over the problem of how to persuade Colonel Richmond to keep West in the field, when he decided to check in on him just to make sure he was all right. He knew he was acting like a mother hen with one chick and hoped that West wouldn't resent his interference. He'd have to be careful not to wake him.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, Gordon waited while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He was able to see that West was not in the bed or anywhere else in the room. A quick search revealed that his hat and gun-belt were missing as well.

Gordon was suddenly on the alert. Normally, he wouldn't be worried or surprised if West decided to go out at night but, normally, Jim would invite him to join him, not do it secretively and, normally, he wasn't suffering from a knock on the head and loss of memory. With that in mind, he quickly dressed and left the hotel to scan the street for West's likely destination. The obvious choice was the saloon so he went in that direction.

It wasn't hard to find West, as he was making a considerable amount of noise, not just because he had consumed the best part of a bottle of hard liquor, which sat on the bar in front of him, but because he had, for some reason, started a fight with one of the patrons. West was taunting the other man who, almost equally as drunk, threw a punch in response. Even in his cups, West was able to duck the flying fist and, clasping his assailant around the waist, backed him over a table and onto the floor. He righted himself and butted West in the stomach. West was rammed into the bar and slid to the ground. He was getting up when Gordon intervened by grabbing his left arm.

"Come on, Jim, you've had enough for tonight."

West attempted to fend him off but the fight had gone out of him and he allowed himself to be half supported, half dragged from the saloon. As soon as the cold night air hit West the alcohol in his bloodstream went straight to his head and his legs went from beneath him.

"Jim!" Gordon slapped him on the face just hard enough to shock him out of his stupor and back on his feet.

"Leave me alone," West said in a slurred voice. "Don't feel so good," he finished.

Gordon took one look at his face and rushed him to the gutter where he vomited violently. Gordon realised this owed less to his drunken state and more to the blow to his solar plexus. It might also have something to do with his recent head injury. Taking no chances, he decided to get West back to bed as soon as possible.

This proved to be more easily said than done, especially as West wasn't inclined to help in the process of getting him to the hotel and up the stairs. As they reached his room, West yawned and began to mellow a little. As Gordon was removing his jacket and boots, West smothered a laugh.

"I have explosives in my boots," he whispered.

"I know," Gordon replied, "they're an invention of mine."

"They are?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, you're awesome!" West replied, looking up at Gordon in wonder, "absolutely awesome!"

With that he passed out. Gordon sighed with relief, covered him with a blanket and left him to sleep it off.

The next morning Gordon was eating breakfast in the hotel dining room when West made an appearance. His eyes were puffy and he was walking gingerly to avoid jarring his head. He sat down opposite Gordon and gratefully accepted the cup of black coffee he was offered.

"Care to tell me what last night was all about?" Gordon asked.

"Well, you can't accuse me of drinking to forget," was West's wry response. He carefully kept his eyes on the table, not quite ready to face the day.

"It wasn't designed to help you remember either," Gordon said. "Is the headache back?"

"No."

"Liar."

"When do we rendezvous with the train?" West asked, changing the subject.

"The Wanderer should be pulling in a couple of hours from now. Do you want to get some more rest?"

"No, I'm fine," West said, but then he winced as he looked up and was hit by the sunlight coming through the window. "On second thoughts," he said, shielding his eyes.

"You go and lie down. I'll see to the hotel bill and the horses and I'll call you when it's time to leave."

West began to nod in agreement, thought better of it, and left.

Gordon watched him walk away, full of misgivings. What did the future hold for his friend? They would soon be on their way to Washington and time was running out for West to regain his memory. Gordon was loathe to accept that his friend would never remember him and all that they had been through together, especially the friendship they'd forged and which he'd hope would be a lifelong one. It was frightening to realise how fragile that friendship had turned out to be under the weight of the current circumstances. He'd seldom dwelled on the possibility that one or other of them might be killed on assignment. You couldn't do this job if you let your mind dwell on that scenario. But to find his partner taken away from him so suddenly, and for such a relatively trivial reason, was hard to bear. Would they ever find their way back?

By the time they met up with the Wanderer West had become uncommunicative again. However, he seemed suitably impressed with their living quarters and, after a tour of the train, he was well-informed about the various and remarkable features it included. By the time he had been introduced to Henrietta it was obvious, though, that West was trying to hide his fatigue. This tiredness seemed to be a feature since his knock on the head and subsequent fall from the window. Gordon was satisfied that he hadn't suffered a concussion but he was nevertheless concerned that his friend had enough sleep.

"Why don't you lie down until dinner," Gordon suggested. "I usually take care of the cooking."

West looked relieved for two reasons. He had been longing to lie down and rest his head for some hours and he wasn't sure if he knew how to cook but suspected that he didn't.

"Thanks, Artemus," he said, "but wake me up if you need me." He seemed to realise what he had said, hesitated and then turned abruptly and left. Under what circumstances could he possibly be needed, he chided himself.

During dinner, Gordon revealed that, while West had been asleep, they'd received orders to visit the local Governor and pick up some information for the President.

"It means we'll have to remain in Remembrance for a bit longer but don't worry, I can easily handle this assignment on my own. You can stay here and rest."

"When are you leaving?"

"I ride out directly after dinner. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Yeah," West said. So he was already being sidelined. What he wouldn't admit was his headaches were getting progressively worse and he could really do with a stiff drink and an early night.

After a couple of stiff drinks, West fell asleep on the couch. He was woken by the barrel of a gun being pressed against his right temple. Before he could respond the gun was cocked and a voice instructed him not to move. Seconds later a cloth impregnated with chloroform was placed over his face and he passed into unconsciousness.

There it was again, that nasty taste in the mouth. West lifted his eyes to discover his hands were roped together through a hook attached to a beam up above him. He could also feel that a device of some sort was attached to his head. Below him were a bank of generators and a familiar-looking piece of apparatus. He fought to remember why it was familiar to him but he couldn't quite bring the memory to the forefront of his mind. All he knew, instinctively, was that there was great danger. This was confirmed when he recognised the man standing at the controls; Shawcross!

"I'm glad to see that you have woken up at last, Mr West," he said.

West was too busy trying to loosen himself from his bonds to pay much attention. He _had_ to get out of there.

"Ah, the ever so cool and collected Mr West seems to be panicking. How odd! Can it be that you remember your surroundings and what happened to you here? Perhaps a small sample will jog your memory."

"No!" West pleaded.

Ignoring him, Shawcross pulled a small lever and a moderate electrical shock coursed through West's brain.

When it didn't turn out to be the excruciating experience he had, for some reason, been expecting, West took advantage of the reprieve. Ever the man of action, he swung both feet up to the beam and, hanging by his knees, released the ropes from the hook. He jumped down from the platform and threw himself at Shawcross before he could get away. Even with his hands joined by a piece of rope, West was able to land him a hard blow to the jaw that floored him.

Anxious to get as far away as possible, West ran from the building. With the tension released it was easy to shake the ropes from his wrists. Finding his horse tethered outside, West mounted it and rode off, spurred on by thoughts of half-remembered pain, not stopping to wonder why his horse was there. Soon he felt a shift in his brain and began to slow down until he stopped altogether to steady his head against the lightning pain. His jumbled thoughts began to straighten themselves out and his memory returned like a pebble hitting water. The memories spread outwards until they reached the events of his first visit to Remembrance. It was as if the previous few days had never happened. Then, like a hammer blow to his heart he remembered that Artemus was dead, killed by Amelia Shawcross. But he couldn't allow himself to think about that now. Even though the heavy weight in his heart would be a constant reminder, he obviously had a responsibility to finish his assignment. Now he was no longer acting irrationally, he knew he had to return and deal with Shawcross. Going back into danger had one advantage; it would delay the need for him to dwell on a future he had yet to find the courage to face.

Meanwhile, back at the house, 'Shawcross' was getting to his feet and rubbing his jaw. Things hadn't gone quite as he'd planned when he'd donned his disguise earlier. It had all seemed so simple. Pretend to be Shawcross, drag West back out to the house where he'd been tortured and put him through it all again, this time without hurting him. In his mind, the electrical shock, although weak, was an obvious way to force his partner's memory to return. In reality he was none the wiser as to the effect that it had had on West. Until he knew the outcome, Gordon was unsure of how his friend would greet the knowledge of his subterfuge. After all, the kill or cure scenario must have been very unpleasant for him. Now he was presumably racing around alone on his horse, heading goodness knew where. So it was with trepidation that Gordon removed his disguise, found his horse, and rode in the direction of the train.

Suddenly, he saw West riding toward him. Thankfully, he seemed rational enough as he brought his horse to a standstill; that was until he spoke.

"Artie, you're alive!" West's smile was one that Gordon had never seen before. His friend leaned over from his horse and grabbed Gordon by the shoulders, as if to make sure he really was flesh and blood.

"I'm glad to see you're alright too, Jim, but why did you think I was dead?"

"Because Amelia Shawcross said she killed you." The memory of it made his face fall and he looked more like a schoolboy who'd been beaten unfairly than the secret agent he was.

The penny dropped. "Jim, what day do you think this is?"

West looked at him oddly. "I'm not sure of the date but I guess we've been in Remembrance a couple of days at most. Why do you want to know?"

"Because we arrived five days ago," Gordon said.

"Five days?" West was confused. "But I just came from the Shawcross house. Surely I wasn't there five days?"

"You don't remember losing your memory?" Gordon asked and, as soon as he said it, realised how stupid it sounded. Anyway, it was obvious West didn't.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "I remember everything clearly; apart from when I was knocked out," he clarified.

Aware that he was going to have to drop a bit of a bombshell on his friend, Gordon said, "I think we'd better head back to the train. It'll be easier to talk there."

"But hadn't we better deal with Shawcross first." West was obviously puzzled.

"Jim, I don't feel like I can ask for your trust at the moment. You'll soon find out why," he added as his partner started to protest. "But believe me when I say that Shawcross has been dealt with and we can forget about him."

"Alright," West said, not believing that he could ever misplace his trust in Artemus Gordon, and turned his horse in the direction of the railroad. As they rode together Gordon was aware of West glancing at him every so often, presumably still a little stunned by his being alive.

Back at the train once again, both men took the opportunity to freshen up and change their clothing. Then, after a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee, Gordon broached the subject that was weighing heavily on his mind.

"I'm sorry you had to go through what happened last night," he said. "In my defence, I only did it so that things would go back to the way they were."

"Artie, what are you talking about?"

"Hearing himself addressed as 'Artie' made Gordon realise that he truly had his friend back. Yes, last night had been worth it; now to deal with the present.

"This morning, when you came to in that basement, it wasn't Shawcross you saw; it was me."

"You? What on earth did you think you were doing?" Then after a moment's reflection, "you gave me an electric shock!"

"It was only a small one. I thought that the fear of being back in that basement with Shawcross would restore your memory, and it worked."

West thought about this for a moment then decided he'd never had cause to distrust his partner before, in fact, trusting him had often saved his life "Well, it did cure my headache so I'll overlook that for now. You keep saying I lost my memory. Maybe you ought to tell me what's been going on."

"After Shawcross kidnapped you, he used his electrical apparatus to make you lose your memory. Then he moved you to a different house, in a different town, and made it look like it blew up and he rescued you. The worst part was that he pretended to be me, thinking I was already dead."

"How come you're not dead, by the way, no, don't tell me, bullet-proof vest, am I right?"

"Yes but I knocked myself out on a rock."

"Clumsy!"

Yes, well, anyway, after you disappeared, Colonel Richmond thought our assignment might be linked to the Collingwood rubies so I left for Charles Town and took Collingwood's place."

"How is Simon, by the way?"

"Fine, he's in Washington at the moment."

"Washington?"

Gordon briefly explained about his plan to transport the rubies and capture Shawcross. West was surprised he couldn't remember any of it. Gordon was careful not to mention anything that reflected badly on his friend. If he didn't remember getting drunk then that was probably for the best.

"And Shawcross, you said we didn't have to worry about him.?"

"I contacted the Sheriff's office in Charles Town. Shawcross and his men were arrested and they're sitting in gaol as we speak."

"And his wife?"

"His wife?"

"Yes, Amelia is his wife, not his sister."

"That figures. Evil attracts evil." Gordon noticed the distaste on West's face. "Aw, you kissed her didn't you?"

West shrugged. "You know me."

"Yeah, anyway, there's a warrant out for her arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder. She could have killed you when she sent you through that window."

"Maybe it's a good job I don't remember."

"Aren't you worried about forgetting the last few days?"

"I don't see that it makes that much difference. You'll be the one writing the report so I don't need to know the details and if you don't mention my memory loss then I won't either. I'd probably feel foolish if I ever found out what I did, anyway."

Gordon nodded. His lips were sealed on that.

That night the train made an unscheduled stop due to a small landslide. The brakes were applied as slowly as the engineer dared but still there was a loud sound of metal dredging on metal which made West sit up in bed. As the train came to a sudden halt he was first thrown forward and then back, where he hit his head on the solid wood bed-head.

"Ow!" He leaned forward, with his hands over his head, aware of a dizzy feeling overcoming his senses. When his mind cleared images began reappearing in his memory but they came in an orderly sequence, lined up like soldiers and, like a general, he inspected each of them in turn. There was the hotel room in an unknown town; how could he have thought Shawcross was Artemus?..Then there was Collingwood who was obviously Artie. Everything fell into place including the fact that he hadn't treated his friend very well. When he considered how Gordon must have felt his reaction was one of regret, even though it hadn't been his fault.

The night he got drunk rolled into view and he cringed. That was totally out of character and he hadn't been ready for the blow to his middle. Artie had looked after him, though. Had he called him awesome? He cringed when he realised he had. And his friend hadn't even mentioned the incident, so as to save him embarrassment. He'd acted like a complete idiot.

West swung his legs to the floor, ready to go to Gordon and tell him he'd regained his memory but, as he did so, another memory came to him and he paused. There was a knock on the door.

"James, are you alright?" Gordon asked as he entered the room.

"Yeah, I'm fine except for a small blow to the noggin. What happened?"

"Boulder on the line; we'll be starting up again in a few minutes." He took in the strange look on his friend's face. "Are you sure you weren't hurt?"

"I'm fine, really, thanks."

"Alright then, I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Artemus."

Gordon nodded and left.

West lay back down but it was several minutes before he closed his eyes to sleep.

The following evening, the two friends were dressed in evening clothes. The train was making a stopover and Gordon had arranged an evening of pleasure, including dinner and the theatre.

"James, you're going to love Tilly and Rose. I bumped into them yesterday in a ladies fashion emporium."

"And what were you doing in a ladies fashion emporium?"

"Bumping into two pretty young things, of course."

"I don't know why I bothered to ask."

"They do have a tendency to giggle a bit but I find that enchanting. They should be here any moment."

"In that case," said West, cracking open a bottle of champagne, "there's just time for a toast." He turned to fill two glasses and handed one to Gordon. "Firstly, I'd like to make a toast to Artemus Gordon, a true friend, who looked after me so well when I recently lost my memory."

The two men clinked glasses. "You're welcome, my boy," Gordon said, taking a large gulp of the delicious liquid.

"I'd also like to toast all the women we've known and loved," West continued."

"I'll drink to that," Gordon said, matching his actions to his words.

"I especially have in mind a lady called Hortense," West said, giving Gordon a sharp look.

Gordon made a choking noise as the champagne went down the wrong way.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to being reunited with my wife," West said.

"I see you have your memory back, then. Jim, you're not going to hold a small joke against me, are you? I only did it to take your mind off things."

"Do you know how worried I was, imagining myself married to some dreadful-sounding woman? But what's really weighing on my mind is the fact that I've been knocked out a total of six times since we first arrived in Remembrance and two of those instances were down to you."

"I only did it for your own good," Gordon said.

"I'll be sure to remember that, while I'm having a lovely evening with the girls," West replied.

"You put something in my champagne," Gordon realised as his vision of West wavered and he could feel his eyes become heavy.

"Yes, and that's for my own good too," West replied.

There was a knock at the door, followed by some giggling. West turned to his friend as he went to open it.

"I'll make your excuses to the ladies," he said, and then he was gone.

As Gordon felt his senses leaving him all he could think was that his friend was going to be all right, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The End


End file.
